52nd Street
by Kita Kitsune
Summary: ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. 52nd Street—the entertainment club run by a shady Russian, whose two top 'dancers' happen to be a pair of Italian twins. What can one poor Spanish grocer do? : Adult-life AU, Spamano main, also Spance and Framano. : Language, BL, prostitution, sex, drugs
1. Little Show Parade

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

_Summary: 52nd Street—the entertainment club run by a shady Russian, whose two top 'dancers' happen to be a pair of Italian twins. What can one poor Spanish grocer do? : Adult-life AU, Spamano main, slight GerIta & EngRoma. : Language, BL, prostitution, sex_

Title: 52nd Street

Chapter One: _(We're gonna have a)_ Little Show Parade

Word Count: 4,865

Page Count: 9

Anime: Hetalia  
Pairing(s) in this chapter: Spain/Romano/Spain, slight Germany/Italy/Germany, **explicit** England/Romano/England, implied Romano & Italy/Nameless 'Patrons'

Warning: Language, BL, prostitution, sex

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)  
Date: Tuesday, January 11, 2011 [ 1/1/11! :D ]

Miscellaneous notes: Because I want to write, and have ideas for the next chapter of "Empire", but I want to let those ideas percolate for another week or so before I write them down. And this seemed like a fun/pointless writing exercise to do in the meantime~ x3 [ …Don't judge me for naming this fic what I did. It just… fit. ._. ;;; ( Forever love for Billy Joel songs~! ) ]

For the record, I don't know how the England/Romano happened, either. It just sort of… did that. x/x And _**I do not endorse prostitution.**_ …Just for the record. ._. ;;

The songs were from random shuffle on my mp3 player. Repeated each one endlessly, for the time I wrote that section. Check out the lyrics, though—seriously. The connection between all of them made me laugh. And look, I made a coherent one-shot instead of random drabbles, as most people do with this mp3-player meme-or-whatever-it-is~! ;3 [ Does that make me (somewhat) original? xD ;; Haha~ ]

**[1]** _– "Broken Hearts Parade" by Good Charlotte_

**[2]** – _"52__nd__ Street" by Billy Joel_

**[3]** – _"Blue Bird", by Ayumi Hamasaki_

**[4]** – "_Unbalance na Kiss wo Shite (Tabata remix)", a Yuu Yuu Hakusho Ending Theme_

**[5]** – _"T.M.T.", by Snow Patrol_

**[6]** – _"Stay in Shadow", by Finger Eleven_

**[7]** – _"Steady As She Goes", by the Ranconteurs_

**[8]** – _"Michelle", by the Beatles_

**[9] **- _"Born to Make You Happy", by Britney Spears_

_[ Most of these are songs I've never really listened to, funnily enough~! Although 2-5 are definitely indicative of the types of music I usually listen to—just not these specific songs~! xD ;;; ]_

I find it amusing how much they influenced what I was writing while listening to them, though. :3

_[ Pointless Note To Self: NEVER start a new fic at 3:30 AM on a Monday when I have to get up at 9:00 AM for class, because I won't end up heading to bed until around 6:00 AM. And then I'll be thinking about the fact the fic is unfinished, ALL DAY. …And won't get around to actually starting to finish it until after midnight on Tuesday, or something. Argh. x/x So tired, only three hours of sleep, still (it's after 2:00 AM on that same Tuesday, now… j~j ;; )! ]_

Hope you guys enjoy~! ( It's probably more than a bit disjointed and blah, but… x/x~ I had fun, sorta. :3 )

_[ Posting edit (2:11 AM) : ZOMG FIRST (utterly new, not a continuation) FANFIC POST OF THE NEW DECADE AND IT'S ON 1/11/11! :DDD! Ahahahahaha~~ *_* :: ...Tired, obviously. :: ]_

_[ More edit (3:30 AM): Oh, and Adela (diminutive Adelina) is Portugal. :D (I'm thinking the girlish Portugal with the short hair Himaruya-sensei was thinking on, a while back, here~) _

_...Haha, it's been exactly a day since I started this fic and now it's posted. xD ;;; ]  
_

: : : : : : :

**[1]**

Lovino stood nervously in front of the large house, a small sparse bouquet of bedraggled flowers clutched in his hands, his stylish white fedora propped under his arm. Dare he knock? He felt like a teenager. Certainly, he was past those days—b-but still. They'd had an argument. What had it been over, again? He couldn't even remember. But Antonio had gone unnaturally quiet on their ride home from the disaster of a date night, stonily dropping him off at his house and speeding away before Lovino could even turn around to try and talk to him.

But, now—what else could he do? Lovino raised a hand, fist shaking a bit in the air before he tapped the door so quietly he was almost sure it wasn't heard. Biting his lip, he waited a moment—then, knocked a little harder. Feeling the adrenaline begin to pump, his mind drew back to all those near-sleepless nights spent staring at his ceiling (p-perhaps waiting for a call or text, but the hours just got away from him, that's all!), and then the foggy mornings afterward where Feliciano would have to practically drag him out of bed. It only worked when his brother would threaten to cook sausage for breakfast… Lovino shuddered at the thought, knocking even harder for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes. The door flew open and he jumped, biting back an unmanly squawk of surprise as the unhappy face of Adela greeted him, her long skirt swishing around her calves. Lovi tried a nervous, shaky smile, quickly dropping his knocking hand and opening his mouth to— She cut at the air with her hand, narrowing her eyes at him.

"No, I do not want to hear it! You stupid, immature little brat, get out of here before I—"

"Adelina? Who is—" Antonio's younger half-sister turned around, snapping at him in Spanish. Lovino couldn't see or hear much over her anger, so he shrank back in fear when he heard silence after what sounded like a rather-heavily-insult-endowed version of his name. Triumphant brown eyes landed on him as she sneered, voice sing-song through the mean grin.

"He doesn't want to see you! Get lost!" Feeling tears sting at his eyes as his heart shriveled up inside his chest, Lovino just threw the sad-looking flowers on the ground, grinding his heel into the plastic covering them, as well as the blossoms and stems (and smearing the card he'd forgotten about with their plant-juices).

"W-Well, fine! S-Stay that way, then! I don't care!" Lifting his head high, the Italian turned around, proudly dropping his hat back on his head and stomping away into the misty near-twilight, brushing some imaginary dust off the shoulders of his matching grey-and-white-striped suit as though ridding himself of the entire matter. Adela snorted to herself as he walked away, folding her arms across her chest and leaning bodily on one side of the threshold. As the sound of Lovino's roaring Vespa faded, her older brother slowly advanced towards the door, until he was standing just behind her. She cast him a cautious glance, not at all happy to see the forlorn gaze he had settled on the pathetic bouquet mucking up their doorstep. He began to bend, and she snapped a little, turning with an angry march to head back to the kitchen.

"Oh, perfect! Go ahead and forgive the little slut again—this wouldn't be the first time he tried to buy you off with a cheap, no-effort gift!" She bumped his shoulder, viciously, but otherwise left him to his idiocy. Honestly, she tried to protect her brother from himself, but there was a limit! If he wasn't going to take her advice, then _let_ him be hurt! That little Italian brat was just like his brother! Sleeping around, no bother for anyone else as long as he got some tail! Adela's blood boiled, and she slammed an empty, stainless-steel bowl down on the counter.

She didn't notice Antonio kneeling at the open door, trembling fingers fishing out the small envelope—stained green and pink and orange by the flowers—with his name written on it in a familiarly elegant, slanted script. He helplessly tried to smooth out the stains, but to no avail. The Spanish man's head bowed, shoulders shaking softly as he clutched the ruined card to his front.

: : :

**[2]**

Lovino growled in annoyance in the back of his throat as Raivis pulled his black corset tight, black-gloved hands tightly clutching the edge of his vanity mirror in the dressing room he shared with Feliciano.

"Gah! God_damn_it, pull _har_—!" A relieved cry interrupted him.

"D-Done!" Lovino wisely held his breath until Raivis tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that all the ties were done up properly. After that, he breathed out, slowly, wincing a little at the constriction and casting a glare over his shoulder at the nervous boy. He narrowed his eyes at him, barking out an order.

"Well! Go get Feliks, then, I still need make-up! And find Elizaveta! Like_ hell_ I'm starting the next number in this get-up!" The Latvian boy yelped and nodded, practically tripping over himself as he raced out the door. Lovino huffed softly—the best he could do—and turned back to glare at himself in the mirror as his brother's airy voice floated in the door.

"Veeee, big brother, you don't have to be so mean~" White-gloved hands that matched his own—up past the elbow and satin, the only difference was the color—slid under his bare shoulders and onto his chest. Lovino grumbled, head tipping upward to allow his brother room to nuzzle his neck. His eyes slid back to meet Feliciano's in the mirror. The other Italian smiled goofily at him, kissing under his chin as white gloves traveled down the black corset to settle around his waist. Lovi's eyebrows furrowed, a black-gloved hand sliding backward and finding the tight silk shorts already clinging to his brother's thigh. He slipped his other hand back for confirmation, both hands momentarily gliding down then back up. No, even Feli's chest was covered with the fake-modest 'angel' costume they needed him to wear for the next act. Lovi snorted, turning around and putting his hands on his brother's upper arms, pushing him gently away to scrutinize him—he squinted at his face.

"How the hell are you already dressed and polished? Feliks hasn't even done my foundation, yet…" Feli smiled happily at him and began to gesticulate in an attempt to convey the extent of his joy.

"Ludwig has every costume really organized! And Kiku is the best at make-up~!" Lovi rolled his eyes, fighting a frown at the mention of the two idiots. Frowns caused wrinkles, and in his profession that spelled an 'early retirement'. A knock on the open door startled them both. Lovi eyed Elizaveta's smile with wariness. She giggled, pulling the 'devil' costume out from behind her back with a beam.

"Sorry to interrupt the 'sibling love' going on around here, but we've got to get you dressed, Lovino~! Feliks is finishing up with Yong-Soo, but he'll be here soon!"

: : :

**[3]**

He fiddled where he stood, unsure. The doorman didn't like him, and the man furrowed those intimidating brows at him over the ticket he inspected. It was a little wrinkled, and a little worse for the wear, b-but still readable, right? Antonio tried an awkward smile as the Brit frowned at him, handing back his ticket and unclipping the VIP entrance, grumbling something about how 'anyone could get a ticket, these days'. The Spanish man tried to laugh it off, sliding inside and letting the bouncy American usher guide him to his seat. Really, it was all a little pretentious for a strip club… The man—'Alfred', his nametag said—smiled winningly at him and provided him with a free bottle of vodka.

"On the house~!" He practically cheered, before zipping away to tend to other guests seated in the VIP section—the section closest to the stage. Antonio glanced around, feeling rather out-of-place as he spotted a prim-looking gentleman with a mole at the side of his mouth. When he noticed him staring, the man gave him a sharp glance from behind his glasses. The Spanish man smiled and shuffled his gaze away, feeling even more out-of-place in his moderately-casual clothes at the other man's black tuxedo. The other patrons around here practically reeked of money and wealth… and corruption, he couldn't deny that one, he thought grimly.

The lights overhead dimmed, and he blinked as a single beam of illumination pierced the darkness of the stage.

Antonio's eyes widened as the spotlight shone off the black leather shorts practically _painted _onto Lovino's thighs, stopping only halfway up the slender legs. He didn't notice that he leaned forward, eyes following the fishnet stockings held up by a skull-decorated garter on each leg down to the painful-looking ebony high heels. The high-collared, black leather vest hugged his slim form, small metallic garnishes glimmering in the sudden light. An over-sized silvery zipper went up the center of the vest. Atop each of Lovino's shoulder blades was a smallish, black bat's wing—Antonio could see that, even from here. In addition to the small black devil's horns on his head, a knee-length devil's tail swished around behind Lovino as he began to move. It was only then that Antonio realized Feliciano was on the stage, too.

His costume mirrored but differed from Lovino's in every way. Instead of horns he had white cat ears, and a sweet kitty tail flinging out behind him, the same length as his brother's. His clothes were different, too—they wore the same tight shorts, but Feli's white ones glimmered brightly (as opposed to the dull shine on Lovi's) as though made of silk instead of leather. Angel wings sprouted from his shoulder blades, his stomach and abs left bare and his upper chest covered by a thin layer of white fabric. High-heeled white boots instead of garters crawled up his legs, leaving the short space between his knee and halfway up his thigh completely bare. The top half of the costume had a strip of cloth hanging off either of his shoulders, and a choker with a single golden bell adorned his throat.

And they danced together. Wound around each other, gasped and rocked and smirked—no, wait, was that only Lovino? Something began to broil in Antonio's gut the longer he watched this. Watched Lovino dance across the stage as something dangerous and predatory, watched as he 'hunted' his brother, running his teeth along his neck, sliding hands under his shirt whenever they came close enough. Feli played his part well, too—not being afraid, but standing up only to have his courage sapped by a dark look from near-identical eyes. And Antonio watched. Watched, as Lovino sold himself and his brother on stage, for the enjoyment of all those gathered in the audience. High-class or not, it was still a house of human _sale_. False _love_ for sale, to anyone who would pay the price. Because getting a night with Lovino or Feliciano—or both of them at once!—was costly. The hoots and catcalls from around him at every particularly sexual scene made his heart clench. Why had Lovino wanted him to come watch this? Antonio knew what he did for a living, _knew_ what his job entailed, and he hadn't cared. Of course, he'd never _seen_ it, but—

: : :

**[4]**

Near the end, when he had sat through almost all of it—some electric techno remixed tune echoing over the speakers, or something trashy like that—he stood, vaulting over the barrier and striding forward, breaking the routine as he violently ripped Feliciano off Lovino just as they were about to kiss, hands already wandering. Lovino glared a warning at him as Feli tumbled to the floor with a squeak—Antonio _hadn't _been gentle. He grabbed Lovi's arm before he could rush to his brother. Completely out of his field of vision, a tall blond rushed onto the stage to assist Feli.

"Don't stop!" An angry voice called out from the audience, making the Spanish man's rage grow. He shook Lovi, hissing at him.

"Is _this _what you wanted me to see? How you sell yourself every day, every night, and you don't even seem to care how I—" The anger momentarily ebbed, tears collecting in an eye and trickling down one side of his face. Antonio looked away, towards the back of the stage so the audience couldn't see his expression. His voice had fallen, sounded hurt and vulnerable.

"I already know… you'll sleep with anyone who pays enough. I'm not judging you!" That last outburst was in a choked, vehement whisper as he felt Lovi about to interrupt him. Antonio's reddening face lifted to look at him, again, the firm hand around the Italian's arm dropping down to hesitantly grasp his wrist, instead. Although teary, his eyes were earnest.

"I know I can't offer you everything you could ever want, I'm just a grocer, but Lovi… I thought… I thought you felt something?" Antonio choked back a sob, eyes shutting tightly and so unable to see the way Lovi's gaze flickered for a moment, uncertain.

"All your lies, until I found out—I never cared, I figured you had your reasons… but this… I just want to be by your side, Lovi, but if this is the way it will be, I can't—I _can't_, it's too painful—!" At last he released the dancer's arm and put a hand to his messy face, throat constricted rather unattractively. The next whisper was short, but with another flicker of anger covering sorrow.

"Y-You're _nothing! _Don't come to my house, Adela won't let you in! This is our last night together, Lovino…" Both hands shot out, suddenly, to grab the sides of Lovi's shocked face, dragging him in for a kiss even though Antonio's eyes were yet soundly shut. It felt wobbly and unreal, beneath the hot lights and the Italian's cheeks burned with rage at the Spaniard for making such a scene, interrupting their performance—but… His breath went ragged as Antonio pulled back, his cheek feeling wet from where the other man's tears had rubbed off. Lovi's own eyes were dry.

They remained dry even as Antonio turned around, rubbing his sleeve into his messy face, and walked back off the stage from whence he had came. Lovi couldn't move as he watched the forlorn figure move through the parting wave of patrons and out the door. His fingers moved upward, ghosting over the touch of sadness lingering in that kiss.

: : :

**[5]**

Antonio wandered back home, abandoning his car where it was parked outside the club. He fished out a still-lit cigarette from an ashtray along the way and took a drag, quietly. He'd quit years ago, but he still remembered how. He hadn't smoked in a while, Adela didn't like it. But right now—he just looked up at the night sky, mind numbing out the drunk collapsed in the gutter at the end of the corner mumbling to himself. He just kept walking, sure he'd reach home.

Antonio tried not to think about the first time he'd caught Lovino sleeping with someone else.

Was that why the British doorman hated him? Because Antonio had burst through the Vargas' door with a bright smile and a plan to hang out with Lovino that night—only to find the man he was infatuated with moaning obscenely as a cursing Brit pounded him up against the high table in the entryway. They didn't even stop, didn't even notice as Antonio sank to his knees in the open doorway, the movie tickets fluttering despondently to the ground.

Feliciano had wandered downstairs a few moments later—a towel around his waist—for some food and it was only his cheerful greeting that caused Lovi and the British man's heads to swivel hastily in Antonio's direction. Lovi had blushed and cursed, trying to shove the other man off by hitting on his shoulders and the Brit had yelled right back, clearly unhappy at being interrupted—but, after what seemed like forever, he finally haphazardly gathered his clothes and marched out. Lovino wouldn't meet his eyes, only ducked out of the room while Feliciano came over with a comforting smile to try and jerk Antonio back to reality.

When Lovino came back out, he was showered and dressed, and Antonio and Feliciano were sitting on the couch, the movie tickets lying on the table in front of them. Lovi nodded to Feli, and his brother scampered away after a soft pat to Antonio's shoulder. The older Italian leaned over to pick up the tickets—he wasn't even sore?—perusing them critically before glancing towards the still-shell-shocked Spaniard staring at the floor beneath the space of his interlinked hands.

"Well, you stupidly bought them, so are we going or not?" Antonio's head had snapped up in surprise, eyes wide with hurt and hope, all in one. Lovino snorted at him, glaring and waving the tickets in front of his nose. "Well? Or am I going to have to take Feli, so they don't go to w—"

And just then, Antonio had jumped up and hugged him for all he was worth, peppering his face with kisses and relieved laughter.

If Lovi was uncomfortable (due to the perhaps-less-than-optimal state of his ass) sitting in the same spot in a darkened movie theater for two hours (with no making out), he certainly didn't complain as Antonio's hand wriggled its way into his own about five minutes in. Throughout the entire movie, Lovino didn't budge. And as the ending credits began to roll, he leaned over and kissed Antonio's cheek. As the lights came on, he caught a glimpse of Antonio's surprised face as the other man held a hand to the pecked spot, staring at him. Lovi grumbled something and looked off, face feeling warm, but light laughter was all that greeted his ears as Antonio took his hand and kissed the back of it, smiling as Lovi hissed and jerked it back, practically flailing at him in the middle of the row as the other patrons filed out around them.

: : :

**[6]**

Eventually, Lovi and Feli were quickly ushered off the stage, Elizaveta fluttering around Feli and checking him for any bruises or bumps. The entire mood of the night had been broken—Lovi snapped at anyone who came near him, just stripped off his costume the moment the door to his dressing room closed and emerged minutes later in a stylish pair of black silken slacks and a matching button-up shirt under a white vest that practically shone in contrast. He cast a dark look out from under the white driving cap he'd grabbed as an afterthought, pulling down the front as he stormed out of the establishment, thoughts turning as icy as the chill of the wind that bit into his fine clothes.

The streets around here were safe enough, and Lovi knew what spots to stay away from. Besides, there was only one parking lot. With any luck, Antonio would be just sitting in his car, staring at the—

His black-and-white shoes stopped. Antonio's car. Was right there. He took a slow breath, then walked forward, rapping smartly on the dark glass.

"Oi, bastard! Open up! You can't just interrupt a performance like that, _idiota,_ you—" It took him only a moment to realize that no one was in there, and Lovi fumed silently before hissing to himself and plucking out his lock-picker, squatting a bit to try and work it into the keyhole. With a satisfied grin, it popped open, and he opened the door, clicking the button to pop the hood. In the manner of much practice, he had the engine running in mere minutes, shut the hood, and slid into the front seat, not bothering with the seat belt as he shut the door, turned on the lights and slowly backed out. Stupid Antonio. Making a scene like that, then wandering off into the night? Ksh! When Lovino caught up to him, he'd run the bastard over!

: : :

**[7]**

Antonio watched the river run, from his place on the bank. He was close to the Vargas' house. How had that happened? It was much further to here than to his home… He sighed, running a hand back through his hair as he stared up at the night sky, melancholic. When had this happened? Everything had been so wonderful, but it seemed as though, tonight, it was all falling apart…

Should he just keep going, then? Forget about Lovino, and—and just run away?

A small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. Lovi would never be _only _his, anyway. Had it been foolish of him to think he could win him over, if he just kept trying? But he couldn't help but think of him and Lovino, in the coming years, somehow managing something out, living together, Lovi cursing at him but kissing him and not having to work at that strip club anymore, Antonio would get him out of it and into a proper job—

A weak laugh hit the air. It almost sounded like a sob. Antonio squatted on the dewy grass, folding his arms over his wobbly, balancing knees and brushing at the wetness that'd suddenly sprung from his eyes, telling himself it was only the morning chill. M-Maybe he should go home, call Francis and Gilbert up and the three of them would head far, far away from here…

Or maybe he should just go alone.

_"This is our last night together, Lovino!" _

He winced at the echo of the night's earlier shout, burying his face into his knees as he at last dropped to a full seat on the damp ground. He didn't care that he'd been out all night without a jacket. Lovino would never be his, didn't _want_ to be only his—a-and he could tell, it would only get worse, after this. They would dance around one another awkwardly, or Lovi would punch him and tell him to stay away forever, a-a-and… Antonio couldn't handle hearing that. It was better to leave, stuff all these wild emotions deep inside him away and… He sniffled, rubbing his wet sleeves over his puffy face. Maybe he should go home, now, even though he was so close to the Vargas'… would Lovi be home, yet? He peered up at the hint of illumination at the other end of the sky, blinking slowly. Had he already been out this long… ? He needed to find a payphone and call Adelina, she must be worried sick! Hastily, he glanced around, spying a gas station and feeling his heart lighten a bit. Oh, it was times like these he wished he could afford a cell phone—but this thought was far from his mind as he sprinted for the soft glow of the digital numbers of the gas price readouts.

: : :

**[8]**

Antonio didn't realize the reason one of the cars pulled up at the fueling station looked so familiar until someone stepped out of it, face shadowed by the lights overhead. Everything he'd just thought came to a grinding halt as that someone looked up. Brown eyes widened in realization, then narrowed in annoyance. Of their own accord, Antonio's feet had frozen to the ground, he was only able to watch as Lovino stalked up to him and snagged his shirt collar to drag him down to his eye level, snarling at him.

"Y-You! Where have you _been_, fucker? I've been up all night searching for you, and just when I give up and go home you're _five minutes_ away from my house? Shit! What the hell is—"

Antonio just held his face and kissed him. Lovi sputtered against the motion, arms fluttering about angrily and so the Spaniard made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, pulling back a little breathless, eyes bright and clear despite the sleepless night out in the chill autumn.

"Lovino…" A perplexed gaze peered up at him, all-too-soon sharpening off into another glare. Lovi's hands came up to try and shove him off. Antonio took a step forward into his space. Lovino took a step back, eyes narrowing.

"Hey—" Antonio took another step. Lovi took another one back. This continued until the dancer's back was up against the Spaniard's car and Antonio smiled kindly down at him, hands still cupping the younger man's cheeks.

"Lovino… I—" The Italian's face was lightly dusted with pink and Antonio chuckled gently as he noticed that, running his thumb over the warm skin and leaning in, cooing softly. "You're so cute…" At that, Lovi went completely red, sputtering profanities and flailing against that unrelentingly gentle grip.

"T-The hell? I'm not 'cute', you goddamn turtle-loving tomato-for-brains bastard! You're talking to—" He was cut off with another kiss, this time Antonio's hands sliding down to wrap around Lovino's waist, fingers innocent but firmly not letting go.

"I… know you won't change for me, Lovino, but—" His voice dropped, and Antonio shifted to murmur into his ear, voice soft and unsure, but not hesitant. "I love you, Lovi. I know—I know you don't feel the same, I know you don't need me, but all I want is you, Lovi—I don't care about all the other complications, b-because you—I just need to be near you—please let me be near you, Lovi—" Lovino was trembling, now—but oddly enough not fighting the hold, anymore. Antonio took advantage of that to draw him closer, murmuring into his hair and nuzzling that odd little curl that stuck up, so stubbornly. "_Te amo_… I love you—"

Slow fingers moved up, clutching quietly at the back of the Spaniard's shirt.

And something in Antonio lifted up to the heavens as he heard a small voice mumble in response—

"_T-Ti amo_, you… you—" Antonio cut the unmeant curse off with another kiss.

: : :

**[9]**

Lovi sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the picture taken years ago. It was just after the whole 'club' incident—the morning after, in fact. Antonio was hugging him from behind, the biggest happy grin on his face as he looked straight at the camera. Lovi was shouting something at him, glaring at the face situated so close to his own, blatantly _ignoring_ the camera. He took the picture, quietly staring at it.

How had it come to this? A few years and already… ? Lovino sighed, setting the picture back and slowly standing, shoving his hands in his pockets and meandering into the hall and downstairs. The house was quiet. Feli had moved out shortly after Antonio had moved in—to live with that macho-geek from the club. Lud-something. The blond who always barked out orders like they were biscuits.

(Che, not that they'd be tasty, they'd probably be potato-biscuits or something equally disgusting…)

Antonio… how long had it been? Now that he was downstairs, Lovino was at a loss for something to do. Television these days was a bust, he didn't have work until tomorrow (cashier at Antonio's small family-owned grocery since last May… typical), and—

"Lovino! _Mi corazon~!_" Brown eyes widened, and he glanced toward the door just as it banged open. Tired green eyes fell upon him, and in that instant Antonio's face transformed. The lines fell, the beam bringing life back into his face as the Spaniard dropped his things at the door and rushed across the room to embrace him—stumbling, actually, on the way, his shoes half-off, so he ended up tackling Lovino unintentionally to the couch. The Italian groaned at the odd angle, his back sprawled uncomfortably against the edge of the seat, his rear on the floor. Antonio's laughter was rich, though, and so Lovi only grumbled a little as his partner hugged the living daylights out of him, before only drawing back to gaze at him, taking in every detail of his face with shining eyes.

"I'm sorry the conference took so long~! Did you miss me?" It was a sweet, faintly-manipulative question, and Lovi narrowed his eyes, huffing and looking off, somehow managing to cross his arms over his chest defiantly despite the fact Antonio was basically keeping him pinned down with his body weight.

"Pfeh. No." Antonio just laughed again, to that, and Lovi fought a small smile as the idiot pulled him close, dusting his face with kisses, all over, whispering—

"Well, I missed _you_ more than you know~!"

( Oh, Lovi probably had _some_ idea, if those errantly wandering hands were anything to go by… )

The Italian smirked to himself.

He'd put his experience (as basically a former high-end prostitute) to good use, _tonight._

: : : : : : :

_Mm, my first little Spamano one-shot and it was slightly sappy and all-around bad, I know._

_Ah, well~ (I really have no idea where most of this fic came from. x.x) Review? :3 -Fox_


	2. Pennies For Someday

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

_Summary: 52nd Street—the entertainment club run by a shady Russian, whose two top 'dancers' happen to be a pair of Italian twins. What can one poor Spanish grocer do? : Adult-life AU, Spamano main, slight GerIta, EngRoma. : Language, BL, prostitution, sex._

Title: 52nd Street

Chapter Two: (_Anthony works in the grocery store, savin' his) _Pennies For Someday

Word Count: 5,053

Page Count: 8

[ Total Word Count: 9918 ]

[ Total Page Count: 17 ]

Anime: Hetalia  
Pairing(s) in this chapter: Spain/Romano/Spain, implied Germany/Italy, implied Austria/Italy

Warning: Language, implied prostitution and recruiting, illegal drug usage, underage drinking, child bullying, child neglect

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)  
Date: Thursday, June 9, 2011

Miscellaneous notes: Because I felt I had to give Lovi's side of that heart-wrenching scene (and also a little more backstory). Ahahaha~ This was meant to be posted way back in February, but I didn't write the finishing part (which I've had in mind since I posted the first chapter) until today, so I guess that counts~? There may possibly be a third and final chapter—but don't hold your breath, as it may take almost half a year for that one to come out, as well. x.x This was written to get me back into writing and hopefully soon updating for my major fics, Hetalia's "Empire" and YYH's "Second Try"~ :3 Hope you enjoy this, at any rate! :D

**[10]** – _"That's What (It's All About)" by the A*Teens/A-Teens_

**[11]** –_ "Mama You're A Liar" by Kerli_

**[12]** – _"Empire", by Kasabian_

**[13]** – _"99 Red Balloons", by Good Charlotte_

**[14]**_ – "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)" by Billy Joel_

_**Warning: **__**Time jumps!**_

Far Past=Events that occurred long before Section [1].

Past=Events that occurred just before Section [1].

Present=Events that occurred during Sections [1] to [8].

Present Future=Events that occurred around the time of Section [9].

Future=Events that occurred anytime after Section [8].

Far Future=Events that occurred after the Section [9].

Times in chapter one, for reference:

[1] – Past

[2] through [8] – Present

[9] – Future

( …I seriously love that I numbered the sections in the last chapter, now. So easy to organize time~! :3 )

: : : : : : :

**[10] **(Present)

Despite his profession, Lovino made sure to never dress like a prostitute outside of the club. Context was a huge marker for most people, and if he didn't look or act like a whore, no one would give him any disrespect. He'd practically bashed this into Feliciano's head—and a few other heads who 'thought' they recognized him, late at night. That was part of the reason he was quick to shuck off his costume (_dirty_, his mind hissed at him), mind not at all connected to the way his hands were moving.

What had set Antonio off like that? It's not as though the bastard didn't know what he _did_ for a living—he'd even shoved Feli! Lovi growled to himself at that memory, harshly jerking his black shirt over his head. The hell? The idiot grocer had just jumped up onto the stage, the look on his face—

_ "Is this what you wanted me to see? How you sell yourself every day, every night, and you don't even seem to care how I—" _Accusing, angry, hurt—Antonio's cheek had been wet. He'd partially pulled Lovino in front of him as he looked away, subconsciously trying to give them a bit of privacy from the audience staring at his back. The Italian knew it was subconscious—Antonio wasn't one to think when he was emotional. Lovino's eyes flickered over the Spaniard's shoulder and towards the darkness—under the lights, he hadn't even known Antonio was there. But that wasn't the point. He'd given him the ticket anyway, hadn't he? Lovi's gaze hardened, face becoming an impassive mask to ward off any possible hurt. This was what he _did_, this was his _job_, it was something that just _came with him_ (like it or not!) and Antonio had _no right _to judge him for—

"_I already know… you'll sleep with anyone who pays enough. I'm not judging you!" _Lovi had jerked in surprise to that last desperate assertion, wide eyes fixing back on that crumpled, miserable face. Unknowingly, he relaxed as confusion swept over him. What—? Then—why was Antonio so upset? If he was jealous—if he was _jealous_, then he was just like everyone else, who treated Lovi like a possession, a commodity—but— Those weepy, honest eyes at last rose to meet his, again. Lovi had to resist the urge to flinch, his mouth instead flattening into a firm line as he straightened up, instead, trying to seem taller and less vulnerable (despite the fact Antonio still hadn't let go of his arm).

"_I know I can't offer you everything you could ever want, I'm just a grocer, but Lovi… I thought… I thought you felt something?" _Something fragile in his chest fractured, a little. He hadn't meant to—that is, he _did_, but—looking back, it had been perhaps stupid of him to give Antonio a ticket. Antonio'd probably never been to a club like this, and seeing Lovino up on stage… B-But that wasn't _fair_! Antonio never gave any hint that he was the jealous type! Hell, even that time with Arthur—Lovi's mind derailed momentarily in shame, but he shook himself out of it—just in time to register that Antonio had been blubbering away at him (apparently) and the Spaniard only now moved to cover his own messy face with his palm, voice choked and utterly torn.

"—_Don't come to my house, Adela won't let you in!" _Lovi warily watched him, mind still hearing the whispers of the audience watching this entire scene. Great, just _great_—but then Antonio's hands had flung out to cup his face, those last earnestly heartbroken words rending a few more cracks along the line of that small fracture spreading inside Lovi's chest as a trembling mouth covered his own in a hopeless, off-center kiss under the hot lights.

"_This is our last night together, Lovino…" _Lovi had to fight back his rage, at this—he never allowed _anyone_ but Feli to kiss him onstage, gave too many other people ideas—but then he registered wetness rubbing onto his own cheek, and his mind blanked. And soon Antonio was gone, moving, his back turned to him as he slowly marched away, shoulders slumped in defeat. Lovi didn't even register the quick footsteps signaling Elizaveta's arrival on the stage, her worried voice in his ear just as the lights clicked off, bathing them in private darkness.

Scowling, Lovi grabbed his white driver's hat and burst out the door, glaring at anyone he saw as he stomped out of the club and into the parking lot, fuming. The fuck! Where did Antonio get off, thinking he had the _right_ to make Lovino feel this shitty?

: : :

**[11]** (Far Past)

Lovi had always stood up for Feli. There was a time in middle school when Feli would get picked on by the other boys for being too 'chummy' with the girls—and then, their freshman year in high school, everyone else who was big and awkward and dumb got jealous of little Feli, who could chatter nonstop to all their female classmates without ever breaking a sweat. Feli never got tongue-tied or embarrassed. Lovi didn't think anything of his brothers' talents (that was just the way Feli was, and Lovi was too much of a loner to chat up the girls like Feli did [although he _could_ have, if he'd wanted to!], so he wasn't even on the bullies' radar) until he found a whimpering Feli crammed into a locker just before lunchtime.

Lovi was as loyal as Feli was weak—or, maybe he just didn't think ahead enough. Either way, he'd escorted Feli to the nurse's office, then tromped to the cafeteria, throwing the doors open and bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"Whoever the _hell_ did that to my brother—get up here, you cowardly bastards! Let's '_talk'_!" There was ringing silence for a few moments before a teacher darted over and pushed Lovi out of the room, scolding him and accompanying him to the principal's office. He got written up for swearing in school.

Those bullies never bothered Feli again.

But Lovi would come home, day after day, bruised in various places, and sometimes limping. Feli would flap his hands worriedly around him, but his brother would glare at him—as he'd never done, before!—and snap at him to leave him alone, he'd only tripped down the stairs at school, dammit! Lovi's language and mood got worse and worse as high school dragged on. Feli grew more and more desperate at the situation, because he figured he knew what was going on—even if Lovi wouldn't tell him.

He eventually broke, and wringing his hands went crying to their mother to fix it—but she only stared at him, eyes haunted over her cigarette. Sometimes—when there weren't as many band-aids on the inside of her elbows—she would pull him close and coo to him, pet Feli's hair and tell him not to worry about it, he was so cute and honest, he'd be fine. As long as Feli didn't lie, Lovi would be his big brother, he'd take care of him, and Mommy would always be there, too! Feli was fine just the way he was, it wasn't his fault he was so scrawny and weak and couldn't stand up to those other boys! And then, in other moods she would hiss at him not to cry, because it made him look like a girl—that everything he did was pathetic, because Lovi was out getting beaten up for his brother's sake and what did Feli do but hide? And after she'd sniff these little white lines of white powder on the table, she would start yelling and crying for 'them' to stop torturing her boys, don't swim away on that flying neon green giraffe, damn you!—and at that point they'd run up the stairs into their room and rip the blankets off the bed and hide under it, wrapped in them and so muffling her screams until she yelled herself hoarse. Lovi would tell Feli stories—their neighborhood wasn't safe after dark, so they didn't dare try to take the bus to find the library. …And besides, their mother wasn't usually like that, really.

But one day they woke up and she was gone. The apartment was as dirty as ever—dishes piled in the sink, roaches in the take-out boxes, puddles of god-knows-what lying stagnant on the damp carpet and attracting mosquitoes. They were a year away from graduation, with rent due in five days. They'd heard about the foster program, but they'd just about age out of it in another year or two, so what was the point? They might just get separated. The day before the rent was due, they dumped their schoolbooks out of the ratty old backpacks that'd served them well their entire public school lives, and stuffed them full with the least-destroyed clothes and a few knick-knacks. Then, Lovi stepped out onto the doorstep, looking back at his brother and holding his hand out. Feli hesitated, but then they clasped each other's hands, hard. Lovi tried to smile a little—tried to be the strong older brother he had to be, but it failed and lowered into a badly-hidden worried frown—and Feli sniffled a little with a more uncertain attempt at a smile. But he did smile. Lovi needed him to smile, so he did. And when Feli smiled a little brighter—despite the fact it was a little faker—Lovi graced him with a little twitch of his lips. And they held their hands tightly, and stepped away from that dirty apartment.

They worked odd jobs for a year until they turned eighteen, homeless and hitch-hiking here and there until they landed in the city that would hold them thereafter. It was Elizaveta who found them, actually—sleeping under a bridge and cuddled close for warmth. She brought them to the club, paying for a bit of food and drink after-hours and sitting down to listen to Feli blubber on about all they'd been through while Lovi quietly sipped at his first (illegal) bit of vodka. Lovi and Feli both knew she'd never meant for them to end up working at that place—but one glance from the owner, Ivan, a quick check on their ages (over eighteen and legal~!), and the Russian was grinning creepily from ear-to-ear. They'd been told more often than not that they looked young for their ages, but this—

But what could they do? They didn't belong anywhere, and at least this way they'd have both a place to live—there were complimentary living quarters for all those who worked in the club, courtesy of Ivan (who was disgustingly rich, if his older sister's breast implants were anything to go by [like hell even_ Lovi_ would actually bring up that little observation in a question]). At least this way they could still be together. Neither of them thought they cared, really, as long as they could live. And being under Ivan's well-furnished roof was the best place they'd landed, yet. Not to mention how everyone who worked there was so kind, not pitying their situation but just treating them like people, not questioning their little quirks or flaws, and—

And Elizaveta was the closest thing they had had to a real _mother_ since their elementary- and early middle-school days, when their own mother had been young and sweet and clean. That was before their father had died, though. And those brighter memories were all-but-blocked-out by the ensuing dramatic drop from middle school to high school—as well as the abandonment.

Lovi had never forgiven her for leaving them—for leaving him to take care of Feli. Even if he loved his brother, as she had been such an irresponsible parent, she'd basically forced him to grow up too fast, and he resented her (and apparently everyone else) for that.

Feli, in his secret heart of hearts, hoped (but never uttered in Lovi's presence) against hope that maybe she had changed her mind after she left and was now searching for them—and maybe, someday she would find them, and they could try being a family together, again.

Lovi—if Feli whispered even the faintest comment about their mother—said she'd probably overdosed long ago and was, by now, a bundle of bones in a ditch by the side of the road.

It never failed to make Feli cry.

: : :

**[12] **(Past)

They kept dancing. In and out, on and on. Eventually it all became a blur of business, Lovi couldn't tell the difference anymore. One night it would be that pompous Austrian freak—who always asked for Feli, the bastard—taking his brother into one of the back rooms, leaving Lovi to play to the less-cultured and more-inebriated crowd of the late nights. Not that he minded—it definitely suited him. Hey, he had this job, he had to get his kicks somehow, right? And perverted businessmen weren't high on his list of 'kicks', to say the least—although perhaps their money was. But the bills had to be paid, not to mention it would be hard to get out from under Ivan now—but that wasn't Lovi's main concern. Ivan let them live in moderate luxury, and they didn't wear rags as they'd worn for that year they'd been on the streets. It was more than they'd had—more than they'd even earn. The stylish clothes, the apartment, all of it…

There was a little grocery store not far from their small, two-person apartment. Sometimes Lovino stopped by there on his way home from the club. Sometimes he would wander through the small, cheery aisles lit by the warm afternoon sun and pretend he was one of the normal people. Most of the items were Spanish, and to tell the truth the grocery store was a little sad. It seemed sort of shady, a little trashy and unpolished—but the food was fresh and good. He didn't buy any then, but they would be open in the morning when he would head home (perhaps they were twenty-four hours?). He had to wonder where the produce came from, and eventually he had to wander up to the counter to ask the twenty-something Spanish woman at the cashier as she rang him up. She gave him a beaming smile, largeish earrings pleasantly framing her face as well as her dark brown hair pulled into a colorful knot at the back of her head.

"We grow it all! Mama Carriedo's brother owns a farm off in the country and my cousin and brother bring in the extra produce that they don't sell to the big organic supermarkets. She said she wanted to do something to help bring in money for the family, and since there was no grocery store in this area they all decided this would be perfect since the space was up for rent and—" Lovi just nodded absently, smiling a bit as she rambled on. He honestly had tuned her out about five words in. But the lady's bright smile and brown eyes were a welcome relief from the empty greed painted on the faces of so many of his customers. Thank god they were at least rich. If they were poor, they'd be both disgusting _and_ ridden with disease. He spied her nametag and canted his head, gracing her with a charming smile as he took his bags off the counter and headed out.

"_Grazie_, Adela."

: : :

**[13]** (Present)

Roderich knew it was a bad idea to fall for a prostitute. Still, he couldn't help himself—Feliciano was everything he could ever want and never saw. Innocence, genuine kindness, pure joy—all things he himself could never find, no matter how many musical instruments he played, no matter how many world-famous orchestras he conducted.

Ludwig wasn't doing his job. Roderich's cousin had been presented to Ivan as a down-payment, of sorts (to ensure he would get to see Feleciano), but the German man had taken to doing less and less of what Rodereich ordered him to do. Ludwig had risen in the ranks rather fast, and so now served as Feliciano's scheduler—and Roderich _knew_ when he was being ignored.

Regardless of all that, after the scene that random man from the audience had stirred up—daring to interrupt Feliciano's act, of all things!—Roderich had risen from his seat and quickly made his way to the back of the stage. One reason he liked this place was the lack of reporters, as well—doubtless this was another reason for all the high-brow customers. Ivan's bouncers also likely helped with that. The simple fact was, despite all their arguing, Arthur the doorman and his Scottish, Welsh and Irish muscle were good at keeping out the riff-raff (Roderich personally thought it was Arthur's eyebrows that tended to intimidate most people into listening to him. Not that he'd ever dare say so to the Briton's face.)

He spotted his sister's son's blond hair as it appeared out of the side-door—Yong-Soo and Yao were already on stage, providing a suitable distraction. The music had changed, as well, and they were fluidly sliding into one of their usual routines. Ivan always liked to have plans beyond plans in case something unexpected occurred, after all. Composing himself, Roderich raised his well-manicured hand to try and flag Ludwig down. Ice blue eyes glanced in his direction and Roderich allowed himself a smile, beginning to make his way through the crowd. He paused when his nephew turned away from him, though, and watched—flabberghasted—as a nervous brunet moved to take his place when Ludwig disappeared behind the door once more.

It was then that Roderich began to think something more was going on.

: : :

**[14]** (Past)

The first time Lovi met Antonio, it wasn't the best of first impressions.

It was one of the rare nights he got off work early, and he'd sent Feli home ahead of him—actually, his idiotic brother had _skipped_ off after he'd agreed that they had the time to make a proper bowl of pasta, tonight (none of those crappy microwavable dinners which were usually a necessity when they only had time to get home and eat before collapsing, exhausted, on their bed at five in the morning). They still had some good pasta in the cupboards from their last early night off, but obviously canned sauce on top of that would be a literal _crime_. And so, as Feli hurried home to start the water boiling, Lovi had agreed to stop at "Carriedo's"—the small Spanish grocery on the way home—for the ingredients to make the sauce. He began to list them in his head as he walked on, seeing but not really registering the meaning of the beat-up pickup pulled up in front of the store (perhaps it might have helped if he had noticed the equally-beat-up crates of produce in the back). Just as he made to step through the ever-propped-open door, a form appeared too quickly for him to avoid and they smashed into each other, Lovi's head going straight into the stranger's chin. He cursed and grabbed his head where they'd bumped, retreating a step or two.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going!" Not even checking to see if the other man was all right, he glanced down at the feel of something dripping down his shirt and stared blankly for a moment at the smushed tomato pulp which had gone all over it. Then Lovi drew himself up and stabbed a glare into a cluelessly-blinking pair of green eyes. "Idiot! Look what you did to my shirt! Do you have any _idea_ how much this cost?" Brown curly hair bounced crazily as the other man quickly shook his head, lifting his hands up in front of his chest, palms-out, in a placating gesture with an appropriately apologetic smile.

"N-No, but—" Neither did Lovi, actually, but that wasn't the point—Ivan was going to be _pissed_ at having to buy him another shirt so soon. He'd just gotten this last week! Suddenly in a foul mood (it never did take much, after the personal hell that'd been his gradeschool years), Lovi hissed at him, grabbing the front of the idiot's tan shirt and dragging him inside and to the counter. Adela was working, again (she always did, from evening until late night) and she blinked in surprise at the sight, opening her mouth to comment, but—Lovi was too caught up in ranting to take notice.

"Did you see that, Adela? He ran right into me! That's grounds for a lawsuit, isn't it? He at least owes me a new shirt!" Out of breath from all the yelling, Lovi still didn't miss the glance she darted over his head and—wait. He paused, eyes narrowing as he took in her features—then glanced behind him, again, at the man he'd run into, scanning his face. After a moment, Lovi's mouth dropped open. He heard a muffled snicker from the counter behind him.

"Ah, Lovino, meet my brother—he's here delivering the new produce for the week." Lovi's skin went cold. Oh, crap. _This _ was Adela's brother? And Adela was always so nice to him… He let go of the man's shirt, mouth dropping downward in a frown as he tried to suppress the urge to glower as angrily as he had been, not moments ago. He heard more giggles from behind the counter as the guy looked away at Lovi's weird attempt to scowl-but-not-scowl at him, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Toni, why don't you take him to the back and give him one of the extra employee T-shirts—

"Eh? But Adelina, he ran into _me, _I was just—" Lovi's hackles went up, but a sisterly tone and glare beat him to it. She barked something in Spanish at her brother, and the man grumbled under his breath, casting a grumpy side-glance at Lovi before sighing and nodding, angling his head towards the door at the back before turning to head there. Lovi almost crossed his arms over his chest to express his discontent—but remembered the tomato juice staining the front of it and desisted. He cast a glance at Adela, who gave him an encouraging smile—and he sighed mentally while offering her a grateful smile in return. He followed after her brother, then.

The back room was small, but not cramped. Ducking in the door just before it shut, Lovi caught sight of Adela's brother near the back, rummaging through a rack of polo shirts. (They were identical to the one Adela wore, every day—the base color a loud yellow, with a golf-course-green collar and hem, and "Carriedo's" scrawled in red cursive over the left side of the chest.) His voice was muffled.

"What size are you? I'm not sure—" Lovi scoffed, leaning back against a spot on the wall by the door. His tone was blunt.

"Medium's fine, jackass." He saw Adela's brother pause in rifling through the polo shirts on their hangers before glancing behind him to frown at Lovi, a bit.

"That's not very nice. I didn't run into you on purpose—" Lovi cut him off, having heard excuses like that all too often from bullies in the halls, at school.

"Like _hell_ you didn't! I'll bet you were even waiting for me to—" A laugh interrupted him, and he straightened, glaring heatedly at the back of Adela's brother's head as he shifted to rifle through the rack of shirts, once more.

"But I didn't~! I was going to eat that tomato, so why would I waste it by—"

"Ex_cuse _me? That wasn't a waste! You should be honored your tomato met its end by my shirt!" Despite the fact Lovi knew he was one of the dirtiest people alive, that still didn't mean other people could treat him like shit, after all! Adela's brother turned around again, then, grinning at him a little.

"Ah, then why aren't _you_ happy about it, hm~?" Lovi sputtered at him as he came closer, a clean shirt in hand and an amused smile on his face. "Right? Because your shirt's ruined and my lunch's ruined, why don't we call it even~?" He tugged on the bottom of Lovi's soiled shirt and Lovi slapped his hand away, glaring up at the other brunet as he practically _ripped_ the clean shirt out of the other one.

"Hands off! I can change _without_ your help, bastard!" White teeth flashed at him in another grin and the idiot nodded.

"Uh-huh!" Turning to the wall, Lovi dropped the clean shirt to the floor and hooked his hands under the hem, to peel off the ruined one. After a beat, he glanced over his shoulder. Adela's brother was blatantly staring at him. An unnatural-feeling flush crept up his neck.

"W-What the fuck are you doing?" Green eyes blinked at him, followed by another grin.

"Making sure you don't steal anything~!" Lovi narrowed his eyes at him, insulted. Adela's brother hummed cheerily back at him in question, expression unchanging. Cursing under his breath about not giving a 'free show', Lovi stripped his shirt off with little of his on-stage grace and reached down to grab the polo, his pants sliding down a bit and he cursed mentally as a sound of awe filled the air.

"Ahhhh, is that a tattoo? Let me see, what is it, is it a—" A foreign finger poked curiously at the spot on Lovi's lower back, just to the left of his spine. He turned around to slap it away, glaring up at those innocent, blinking eyes.

"I said _hands off_, you dummy! Or are you so retarded you can't even remember something from five seconds ago?" Adela's brother frowned at his outburst, folding his arms over his front and looking away with a small pout.

"I'm not a dummy." He said sulkily, refusing to look up at Lovi. The dancer just huffed, reaching down once more to grab the polo at his feet and beginning to slip it on as the Spaniard continued. "It's not nice to call people names. I have a name, and it's much better than all the names you're coming up with!" Lovi snorted again, head popping out of the collar of the polo as he cast a dubious glance over to Adela's brother's small melodramatic act.

"Yeah?" At the hopeful glance up from the man across the way, Lovi smirked. "Well I don't care. You don't know my name, either, so—"

"Ah, but you're Lovi~!" He stopped mid-sentence, staring at the Spaniard, who grinned at him in return.

"Yeah! Adelina called you that, outside~! She said my name, too. Don't you remember~?" There was a teasing lilt to that voice and Lovi caught it (despite the innocent face that delivered it). He glared at him, reaching down to scoop up his ruined shirt and pushing the door open with a succinct reply.

"No, because I don't bother to remember the names of bastards like you." The voice behind him rose in a whine, following him out of the back room and into the store as Lovi meandered through the aisles. (He was looking for ingredients for sauce, not trying to lose the annoying jerk, dammit!)

"But that's not faaaair, Lovi~! Don't you wanna know my name, too?" The dancer snapped at that whine.

"Stop calling me Lovi!" Olive-green eyes scanned the produce—Adela hadn't been lying, it _was _fresh. He picked an onion and turned to examine the tomatoes, but ended up being eye-level with a sadly familiar brown shirt. Deadpanning, Lovi angled his head so he was instead staring at the _face_ of Adela's idiotically beaming brother.

"Maybe if I spell it, you'll be able to figure out my name~?" Lovi scowled, shouldering his way past the Spaniard in the narrow isle. "It's A-N-" He grit his teeth, whirling in place and jabbing a finger into Adela's brother's chest, to stop him from going any further, glaring death up at him.

"I don't care what your name is! _God_, shut up and stop following me, I came in here for a _reason_ you know, and—!" Those green eyes lit up, and that was the only warning Lovi had before he was interrupted.

"Ooooh~! Are you making something? What is it? If you tell me maybe I can help you find what you're looking for, and—" Lovi raised a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose as the Spaniard rambled on and on. He suddenly had a headache forming there. He glanced up at the counter for help, but Adela was just watching the two of them with an amused smile, her chin propped up on the heel of her hand. She waved at him, and he cast her a dirty look.

Lovi blew through the rest of the ingredients on his mental list, and was out of the store in mere minutes—ignoring Adela's brother altogether was the best solution, he'd found. (Or at least _trying_ to was. _Damn, _but Lovi hadn't realized how short a fuse he had until his patience was tested every fucking _second_ by a babbling moron!)

The next time Lovi stopped by the grocery store it was a few days later after his usual work hours, near four in the morning. He walked in, casting his customary glance towards the counter to offer Adela her customary nod of greeting—

Only to freeze as he saw exactly _who_ was behind that counter.

Adela's brother perked up as soon as he stepped inside, straightening and waving like a lunatic before then pointing to the nameplate on his chest.

"Hi, hi, Lovi~! Look, I have a nametag, now, so it'll be easy for you to remember my name~!"

And, true enough, Lovino's eyes were dragged downward involuntarily, the word printed in neat block letters on that tag at last giving a name to his nuisance.

_Antonio._

: : :

_Ha, ha, how did I end up continuing this… x.x;;;_

_Reviews are loves, but thanks for reading, anyway~! :3 -Fox_


	3. Such A Clever Masquerade

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

_Summary: 52nd Street—the entertainment club run by a shady Russian, whose two top 'dancers' happen to be a pair of Italian twins. What can one poor Spanish grocer do? : Adult-life AU, Spamano main, also Spance and Framano. : Language, BL, prostitution, sex, drugs.  
_

Title: 52nd Street

Chapter Three: _(When she says she wants forgiveness, it's)_ Such A Clever Masquerade

Word Count: 3,694

Page Count: 7

[ Total Word Count: 13,612 ]

[ Total Page Count: 24 ]

Anime: Hetalia  
Pairing(s) in this chapter: France/Spain, Romano/Spain/Romano, France/Romano

Warning: Language, adult situations

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)  
Date: Friday, November 11, 2011

Miscellaneous notes: Sorry this is shorter, but it just seemed fitting to end it like this (it was supposed to be a oneshot [And this chapter was supposed to top 6,000 words, but I ran out of time because my new job starts today… Maybe there'll be an epilogue added onto this chapter when I have the time?], how did it become three chapters?). The middleground is all nice and organized, now~ Hope you guys like it! :D Also (if anyone noticed the published date), I'm so happy to be posting this today. Special-number days ftw~! :3

[ Next project will be finishing chapter nine of "Empire"! I am so stoked~! ]

Sorry for any typos, but I'm really short on time and need to get some sleep! I'll get to them, eventually~!

**[15]** – _"Stiletto" by Billy Joel_

_**Warning: **__**Time jump!**_

All events in this chapter take place after the end of chapter two (when they meet) and before chapter one (when they have a fight).

: : : : : : :

**[15]**

Antonio didn't know why he liked talking to Lovino. He'd discussed it with Francis, but all his friend could come up with was that Antonio was a masochist. Actually, just beside him, the Frenchman was shaking his head, blond curls coiling elegantly around his face with the motion.

"Antonio, I simply do not understand. No matter 'ow cute 'zis boy is, he seems not to be interested in you, oui?" Francis moved closer, then, wrapping an arm around him and cupping the back of Antonio's neck with his other hand, purring comfortingly. "Why waste your time~?" Antonio pouted, poking and prodding at Francis' arm, absently, his gaze focusing up on the ceiling as his head plopped back over the backrest of the old, worn-out couch they sat upon.

Francis wasn't rich, but he was a good friend and had crafted a pretty classy apartment for himself out of a meager budget. He'd even been nice enough to put Antonio up when he 'decided' he wanted to work at his aunt's grocery store (without wanting rent, even!). Antonio's uncle had grumbled about losing him on the farm, but Mama Carriedo couldn't be happier to see her boy around more often. Adela, too. He couldn't deny he missed the country, either. Wide fields of— Feeling soothing fingers on his scalp, Antonio sighed, closing his eyes and deflating into the old sofa, letting Francis' weight against his stomach push him further against it.

"I don't know, there's just something… I want to know about him, you know?" He heard a disbelieving puff of air against his ear and huffed, shaking his friend a little until he felt listening lips on his cheek.

"Mm?" Letting out another sigh, Antonio lifted a hand to rub under Francis' shirt, along the small of his back, thoughtfully.

"He just seems like… He's tried really hard in life, you know? And so he spits at me because he's not used to someone being friendly to him, or something like that—because sometimes he's really, really nice, and on those days he lets me hug him and laughs with me and his face gets so much brighter that it's like he never had anything horrible happen to him at all, and—" A nibble on his ear made Antonio giggle, and this interruption gave Francis ample opening to slip his own hand under the Spaniard's shirt. He traced his fingertips against the firm abdomen, nuzzling and licking at Antonio's neck before beginning to press against certain places that made Antonio's insides squirm.

"F-Franny, s-s-stop that, it tickles~" His friend chuckled against his throat, kissing up the line of it and sliding the hand at the back of Antonio's neck around towards his far shoulder, massaging it gently.

"Non, mon cher, I 'zink you need to_ relax_~" Antonio blinked—noting the familiar codeword—and so turned his head to try and kiss Francis back. He then whined a little as Francis instead drew lower, pushing Antonio's shirt up, further, and pressing soft kisses against his stomach before moving onto his pectorals, laving around the peaked nipples.

"Fraaaaanny~~~" He felt Francis smirk against him and frowned, shifting his hold around the other's waist before pushing him onto the couch on his back, and climbing over him. The look on Francis' face was anything but surprised, although the Frenchman still tried to sport a innocuous smile.

"Ah… oui?" Still frowning, Antonio leaned down, pouting just above Francis' lips.

"Not being fair, Franny." Golden chuckles rippled against the air, and Francis' arms wound around his neck, pulling Antonio down so their mouths could brush, teasingly.

"But you're so _lovely_ when you take charge, mon cher~" Antonio rolled his eyes, mussing Francis' bangs with a forehead-nuzzle before moving in to kiss him, at last.

"Then just _ask_, don't_ tease_!"

: : :

Near the back of _Carriedo's_, Lovino watched (unnoticed!) from behind a shelf as a slightly-more-discheveled-looking-than-usual Antonio exited from the backroom, some blond manwhore trailing behind him. He even went so far as to twirl a short lock of the Spaniard's curly hair around his finger, kissing his cheek (and receiving one in return!) before 'gracing' Antonio with a wave as he made for the exit, turning only to blow him another kiss from the door which Antonio—now behind the counter, and tying his apron behind his back—only grinned at. Lovino's fingers tightened around the tomato he held, until he felt it bruising beneath his grip. Not looking down, he grabbed a few more tomatoes—not really paying attention to the amount of force he was exerting—and, stuffing them in a plastic produce bag, bravely made for the counter, a dark scowl etched firmly into his expression.

Naturally, Antonio was oblivious.

"Hi, Lovi~!" The cheery bastard barely glanced at the tomatoes as he grinned at Lovi, and the dancer felt something angry boil up in his gut at the look (_which Antonio had just given to that blond bastard!)_. His glare only intensified, and Antonio _still_ didn't notice! The idiot even hummed, finished checking the tomatoes out, and gave him the total with the same familiar smile. That angry bubble began to burst, leaking out of its shoddy edges and making Lovino feel strangely empty inside. He took his change and turned without another word, ignoring Antonio's sputter of confusion as Lovino simply exited—then, once out, proceeded to _run_ home.

: : :

"Cher, you should come wiz' me to _52__nd__ Street_, sometime~!" Antonio blinked, glancing over his shoulder at Francis from where he was cooking dinner.

"Que?" Smiling, Francis stood from the table and advanced on him, wrapping his arms around Antonio's waist and pressing against his back. He didn't do anything more than that, so Antonio turned back to slicing the chicken for their quesadillas, tonight. "Where's that?"

"Oh, downtown, somewhere~ But 'zere are 'zese two adorable boys you simply _must _see, 'zey're so~" Francis let out an airy sigh, hugging Antonio close as though _he _were one of the adorable boys. "Mm, you would not regret it." Brow furrowing a little, Antonio continued chopping even as he asked.

"What, are they street entertainers, or something—?" Francis chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss under his ear before nuzzling into his neck.

"Ahh, you will see~"

: : :

It was a regular night. It wasn't a special performance or anything—Yong-Soo and Alfred were up, tonight—and so Lovino and Feliciano were working the tables, giving lap-dances. Damn perverted businessmen, their boners were so revolting... A flutter of a twenty-dollar bill caught Lovi's attention and—as Feli was already busy with that Austrian bastard—he made his way to where the hand was raised in the air. When he made his way over, the man was smiling lustily at him, patting his thigh and so Lovi smiled darkly at him—too well-practiced, for it obviously convinced this idiot that he actually _wanted_ to do this—and made his way over, snatching the bill and pretending to inspect it as well-toned, hairy arms wrapped around his hips and drew him closer.

"Barchetta, cher, come sit wiz' me~" Chuckling, Lovino responded to his stage name—a Ferrari 2000 model—and slid onto the stranger's lap, pressing lightly against him and dropping his eyes to half-mast with a small smirk.

"Yes, sir? What would you like?" Lovino purred this, moving imperceptibly against the man who grinned at him and sat back, arms sprawled out on the top of the rest of his circular seat. Silently, Lovino thanked this man for his respect of propriety—customers weren't supposed to touch, not unless they were prepared to pay the fee for a VIP room.

"Just enjoy yourself, yes? Do what feels good~" Channeling the grudging gratitude he had for this oddly-thoughtful customer, Lovino braced his hands, palm-down, on either side of the man's head (against the back of the seat) and began his dance.

They'd barely begun, the man was already hard and Lovino was doing his best to instigate some sort of VIP-bargain, when he felt his bones chill at a too-familiar voice.

"Francis?" Turning slightly, Lovino realized that, indeed, fate enjoyed laughing at him far too much. Even in the darkness of the club, even with the knowledge that Feli—Maranello, to customers—was servicing men just as Lovino himself was (possibly in a VIP room, even)… None of this diminished the distance present in Antonio's green eyes as they just breezed over him. Lovino daren't freeze, instead just casting the Spaniard a quick smirk and turned back to his work, face burning. Francis wasn't looking at him, just smiling lazily against the warm thrum of arousal Lovino had instilled in him as he spoke.

"Mm, yes? 'Zis is one of 'ze boys I told you about. Lucky us, 'zat tonight 'e is working 'ze floor, non~?" Lovino felt Antonio sit down beside Francis, pushing them further into the booth and making the table dig into the small of his back. He arched to try and avoid the mild discomfort, eyes somehow wanting to watch Antonio, but he resisted. Lovino then had no choice as his chin was taken, his face roughly turned to Antonio. And _then_ there was a flicker of awkwardness, before a flash of one of the spotlights from the stage illuminated Lovino's face and realization sparked in those green eyes as they widened.

"L-Lo—" Francis chuckled, apparently pleased with this response.

"_Lovely_, is 'e not~? You want to try?" And all-too-soon Lovino found himself shoved into Antonio's lap, straddling the Spaniard's waist and his own eyes wide and unsure as they'd never been, before—until he controlled himself, schooling his expression and calmly composing himself, glancing toward his customer without breaking character, eyes half-lidded.

"You want to buy another, it'll be more." The blond pervert grinned, flicking out another twenty before sliding a hand into his back pocket, and Lovino felt him cop a feel as he left it there.

"Please, do not allow money to be a barrier. It 'as been a long while since my friend—"

"F-_Francis_!" Antonio'd gasped that, and from his proximity Lovino could feel the heat coming off his face. Lovino nodded slowly, turning back to his 'new' customer as Francis slumped in his seat, the telltale sound of a zipper undoing. Pushing back his disgust at… _Francis_' dirty habits, Lovino smiled down at the wide-eyed Spaniard beneath him, fingers sliding against the seatback and loosely twining in dark curls. The heat on Antonio's face spiked, reverberating against Lovino's palms. But then two hands came up, grasping his wrists and Lovino felt a tingle down the back of his neck he couldn't ever remember feeling.

"D-Don't—Lov—" Silencing Antonio with a finger against the Spaniard's lips, Lovino leaned in and whispered hotly in his ear.

"The name's Barchetta, babe. Now why don't you just sit back and enjoy?" Pushing back any thoughts outside of _right now_, Lovino slitted his eyes in a way he knew made his eyes glint seductively, beginning to gyrate in the warm, broad lap—but a hand against his cheek made him stop. Unthinking, he flicked his gaze back up, almost glaring at Antonio through his bangs. Couldn't he just get this done and over with? Then they could pretend it never—

He stopped. Antonio was staring at him, expression half-hidden by shadows, and he looked—

He looked—

Like he was about to be sick. Lovino felt bile well up within him, that Inferiority Beast he'd tried so hard to quash clawing at the back of his mind as he painted his mother's face over Antonio's.

_(Disappointment.)_

…Now was _not_ the time for this.

Cursing, Lovino grabbed the twenty Francis'd slid into his back pocket and slammed it on the table behind him, stumbling out of Antonio's lap and toward the smoker's entrance. He didn't wait, didn't _ want_ to hear a call behind him, but maybe—

Maybe he should just shut the fuck up and stop going to that damn grocery.

: : :

Francis wasn't happy. He walked towards the door of _52__nd__ Street,_ stewing silently and a hand wrapped protectively around a silent Antonio's wrist, pulling him along. Before they could get far, though, a dancer descended on them and Antonio jerked violently backward, so much so that Francis had to pull himself up and glare at the boy that dared to bar their path. But the boy's eyes were full of worry and bright and innocent despite his rather risqué dress.

"E-Excuse me! What did you do to fratello? He looked so upset! …Oh!" Maranello—this was who it was, the rude Barchetta's angelic twin—lunged forward into Antonio's face too fast for Francis to stop him, suddenly beaming. "You're that grocer, right? From, ah, uh… What was the name, it's on Third Street, and Lovi or I stop in, sometimes—" Francis' grip on Antonio's wrist tightened—"—and you always have really good vegetables, so—"—and the Frenchman stepped between them, frowning.

"Excuse us. We were just leaving." Maranello blinked at him, before then leaning up a little to try and smile over Francis' shoulder at Antonio.

"Ah—okay~! Thanks for coming!" He offered a cheery wave and took off through the tables, once more. Francis tugged Antonio out of there, trying to ignore his friend's uncharacteristic silence—as well as his own heavy heart.

: : :

One week later, Feliciano Vargas blew in through the door of the small grocery, only to blink in surprise as the grocer behind the counter vaulted over it and ran for him, grabbing his arms, green eyes wild.

"L-Lovi! I'm so sorry about what happened that night, I wasn't expecting to see you and especially not in a place like _that—_n-not that there's anything _wrong_ with it of course, because it's a perfectly respectable job and everyone needs to put food on the table, right, but—" Feli yelped in surprise, wriggling a little at the sudden outburst—enough that he could see his assaulter's nametag, at least.

"A-Antonio! I'm not Lovi, I-I'm _Feli!_" The grocer stopped, then, staring dumbly at him and Feli smiled a little to try and cure the awkwardness, patting his arms with a cheerful laugh.

"Q-_Que_?"

"Haha, you must really like my brother if you feel that bad about something that happened a week ago~!" Antonio's cheeks pinked and he let go, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly and averting his gaze to the floor.

"S-Sorry, I-I thought… I mean, of course Lovi hasn't thought about it since then—a-and I'm sorry for mistaking you for him, I—" Feli leaned up, kissing Antonio's cheek and he froze just long enough for the Italian to whisper in his ear.

"You aren't dating that French blond man, are you? …Lovi told me." Then Feli dropped back on his heels from his tiptoes, regarding the Spaniard seriously, his hands in the sky blue pockets of his coat, the white scarf around his neck making him look like he belonged with the clouds. Antonio just stared down at him a moment before he blinked, blushing again and shaking his head, looking off.

"N-No, Francis is letting me stay in his apartment while I'm in the city… He's an old friend—" Feli's smile grew a little warmer, and he turned on his heel to walk out, calling spritely behind him.

"Then I wouldn't worry~!"

: : :

Three months later, Lovino found himself back in front of _Carriedo's. _The winter months had almost passed, but the air was still cool, so he had a cream-colored scarf wrapped around his neck, hiding his chin and most of his mouth. His olive green coat, cut fashionably and rather flattering (courtesy of Ivan, four years ago) was tucked warmly around him, keeping out the wind. The only reason he was here was because Feli was sick, and couldn't get the ingredients, tonight. Lovino had managed to avoid this place for the better part of the winter months, because they had both been busy with work, and hadn't expected there to be much produce in due to the weather.

He stepped inside, glancing surreptitiously at the counter. Adela perked up, waving and smiling at him and he gave her a sheepish, awkwardly relieved grin in return. Then maybe Antonio wasn't working here, anymo—

"Antonio~! Someone at the door for you!" His mouth dropped open, face turning beet red at the shameless announcement the Spanish girl had just made over the store's crackly intercom. Scarcely a moment later, the door in the back slammed open and she winked at him before he tore his gaze from her to the back—and there was Antonio, barreling towards him at full speed, face intense. Lovino screeched, pivoting and lunging for the door but his legs were caught in a tackle and he tumbled to the tile, barely missing his head and groaning from the impact.

"Dammit, if there're bruises, I'm blaming you, Spanish bast—!" Antonio flipped him over, breathless and, for once, not grinning. It was enough to set Lovino's foolish heart all aflutter, but he crushed the reaction down into nothingness, scowling his very best up at the idiotic grocer. The silence lengthened, and still Antonio didn't make any move to get up. "Get off me, idiot!" Antonio shook his head, leaning down and Lovino flinched, trying to shy away into the floor.

"No. No, Lovino, listen to me. I like you. I really, really do. I'm not dating Francis, and I know what you do for a living—" The dancer's heart buckled a little, in shame, and he looked away.

"But—" A hand gently forced him to look back, and now Antonio was smiling kindly at him—unsure, hesitant, but for all the reasons of being shy, not for… anything else?

"But that doesn't matter. I still want to be around you." Feeling his gaze grow soulful, Lovino tried to strip the emotion out of his eyes but it was too late—Antonio had seen. And so the Spaniard moved that warm palm to his cheek—just like that night, so many months ago—and leaned down, to speak whilst looking him straight in the eyes.

"I didn't want Francis to pay you to dance with me. You understand, right?" A small pink flush darted out over Antonio's cheeks, and he glanced off. Lovino found he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"I-I didn't want it to just be 'part of your job'. If you never want to dance with me like that, it's fine, Lovi—it really _is_!" The earnestness in that voice and the sudden reinstated staring contest made the Italian somewhat bashful, so he quickly closed his eyes.

"B-But—but, if you'd want to… Would you like to go on a few dates with me?" The sweet hope in that voice was something, but the sheer absurdity of the statement made his eyes snap open in disbelief. Antonio was still blushing a little, smiling a little, and looking a little scared—but certain.

"W-Wh—" Lovino's brows furrowed downward as he was interrupted.

"It'd just have to be a few, I promise, and if you don't enjoy yourself you don't ever have to worry about seeing me again, Lovi, it's just that—it's just that—" Lovino's hand over Antonio's mouth stemmed the stream of nervous rambling, leaving just green eyes blinking over it. He frowned, fighting back the odd swirl in his gut that was beginning to knot itself up. That gaze took him in, and he remained silent for another moment.

"I have a few conditions, first." Antonio's eyes widened, and the Spaniard nodded quickly. Not removing his hand, Lovino nodded as well, closing his eyes again to think.

"One, no bothering me at work. Two, no bothering me _about_ my work. I'm not going to lose my job just because you might not like what I do, capiche?" Lovi scowled at him, and Antonio nodded furiously, again. "Three, no more kissing or hugging or whatever you do with that French bastard… _Francis_." Antonio's brows furrowed a little in protest, but Lovino caught it and snarled at him, pinching his nose shut with the hand that'd kept the Spaniard silent. "No compromises! Feli and I use protection for work, but I don't know where that _pervert's_ dick has been, and—" Antonio's mouth fell open.

"B-But Franny and I _always_ make sure to use—!"

"—I don't want to_ catch_ anything from you if we—!" He trailed off as Antonio's gape slid into a sly smirk. Belatedly, Lovino realized what he'd said and flushed darkly, flailing to try and free himself from under the grocer's weight.

"Lovi~"

"G-Get off me, you fucker! I said nothing!"

"Lovi~! Do you wanna make love to me~?"

"Like _hell_ I said that! I don't even love you, moron!"

"Aw~ Don't be so mean! You _said_ you wanted to be safe 'if we did anything', right~?"

"I-I never said anything like that! Stop putting words in my mouth!"

"So that _means_ you'll want to do it _sometime_! So I have a chance, right?" By this time Antonio was just plain grinning down at him, and Lovi's face would've perfectly blended in with a field of red tulips.

"N-N-No, it means nothing, I—!" Those green eyes entreated him to give in, warm, broad hands cupping his cheeks tenderly.

"So—Do you want to start dating, Lovi? You really do, right~?" Antonio leaned in closer, and Lovino abruptly found it much harder to breathe.

"I—I…"

"Do you~?" The Spaniard's lips were a mere centimeter from his, and his body was tingling, but something wasn't right, and it—

"YOU'RE NOT GETTING A KISS THAT EASY, YOU _ASS!_" Lovino sucker-punched Antonio right in the jaw (and off of him), rolling to the side and bolting straight out of the store before he could be caught, again.

The winter air against Lovino's burning face did nothing to quell the stupid grin edging over it.

: : :

_I've been so busy lately, but I'm just so delighted to get this final chapter out, today!_

_Comments would be appreciated? :3_

_-Fox_


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